A House of Cards
by Xirysa
Summary: FE7, modern day AU. Two-Sided Shadow: 'Going undercover, apprehending crime lords in the sleaziest joints in town—it was all part of the job. Maybe she'd enjoy it more, though, if it weren't for her partner... Actually, never mind. Leila and Matthew.'


_Have a super old WIP I found.__ I have nothing else to say, except I figured it was about time I posted it._

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><p><strong><span>Two Sided Shadow<span>**

-x-x-x-

The room is dark, lit only by a deep red light in a corner and the glow-in-the-dark jewelry adorning the throats and hands of a hundred moving bodies. The bass is up to the highest setting, pounding through the floor and walls like the steady beating of a giant's heart, and though the words of the song are lost in the sea of bodies, the crowd moves as one, with zeal and energy—an ancient dance of dark passion and carnal desire.

He lounges on one of the leather couches near the bar, a beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, with a scantily dressed woman perched provocatively upon his lap. Other couples surround them, all of them too engaged in other activities to pay them any attention.

She leans towards him as he brings the can to his lips. "Do you want to dance? I've got a little bit of my break left before I have to work again." she says, her painted lips brushing against his ear seductively as she traces circles on his chest with one hand, the other playing idly with his hair. The ladies always loved his hair.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of movement as a dark figure breaks away from the dance floor and heads towards the bar, followed shortly after by a few others. He grins and turns to face the woman beside him, snuffs out the cigarette in an ash tray built into the arm of the couch.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he replies, and looks at the bar. "But first, what do you say to another drink?"

She chuckles and lifts herself off his lap. "I say you'd better make it up to me later."

He stands up, and together they make their way, past the gyrating bodies and through the pools of red light around the dance floor, to the bar on the other side. Her hips swing sensually as she walks, and he can't help but whistle appreciatively at the sight.

Even through the music she hears him, turning her face towards him and smiling flirtatiously, but even in the dim light he catches the glint in her eye.

_You horny bastard._

Finally they are at the bar. From somewhere on her person she produces a key and lets herself behind the counter through, holding it open just long enough for him to follow before she closes it and quickly locks it again. The current shift's bartender, a tall man with a vicious scar over one eye, smirks at them as they make their way to the office at the back.

"You're on again in twenty, Leila!" he manages to say over the bass. "Make sure you don't forget like last time—I want to have some fun tonight, too."

She laughs and turns to the bartender, gestures rudely at him with one hand as they disappear into the office. "Asshat!"

When the door of the office closes behind them, any trace of the easy attitude dissipates immediately as he hurries over to a cabinet on the other side of the room, while she quickly checks herself in a mirror beside the bookshelf.

"Do I look alright, Matthew?" she asks after adjusting the plastic piece in her ear and applying a fresh coat of lipstick—the same vivid hue as her hair.

He pulls a pair of guns from the shelf and tosses one to her before walking to the desk. "You're fine, babe," he says. "Honestly, why are women always so obsessed with what they look like?" He reaches under the desk and gropes around for a moment before grinning triumphantly and removing his hand.

"Because," she replies, adjusting her clothes to hide her gun and the bugging equipment hidden in them, "I'm only trying to seduce a major gang leader before we arrest him, and it would be kind of suspicious if he found a gun on me as he was feeling me up. Now," she says impatiently, "rate me. He's probably in the back rooms by now, waiting for the girl Legault promised."

Matthew crosses his arms over his chest, looks at her pensively before answering. "You're right on the borderline between slutty with class and simple trash. Very nice. But if I were you, I'd make your neckline a little lower, for aesthetics' sake."

Leila shook her head in exasperation. "I dress like this for work and not your sick wet dreams. And stop calling me 'babe' while we're working. It's unprofessional."

"'Unprofessional', says the girl in hooker boots and a miniskirt two sizes too small—oh, nice thong, by the way. Red's my favorite color, you know."

"Coincidence."

They both freeze as the door handle rattles suddenly and the door opens, but relax when Legault sticks his head in. "You ready, Leila? He's waiting." He gestures with his head toward the bar. "You're up, Matthew. The squad should be here in five."

Matthew adjusts the fleshed colored ear piece and nods, turns to Leila and squeezes her shoulder quickly before leaving to take his place behind the counter. Legault looks at her and smirks when Matthew leaves. "'Coincidence' my ass," he says.

"You were listening?"

Legault shrugs nonchalantly. "You know the whole place is bugged; it's not like I was trying." He taps the flesh-colored contraption in ear and grins.

She scowls. "Just shut up," Leila says, and leaves the room. Legault follows. She catches a glimpse of Matthew at the tap before turning and heading down a side hallway, to the rooms "rented out" for other activities.

Here Legault takes the lead, bringing her to a door at the end of the hall, near an emergency exit that led to the alleyway behind the building—the perfect bolt hole for anyone with something to hide, she thinks as Legault talks to one of the men standing guard outside the door.

And the perfect entrance for anyone looking for something waiting to be found.

She starts when the conversation turns to her. One of the bodyguards looks at her, not even bothering to disguise the lecherous look on his face. "So this is the woman Pascal asked for? We'd better look at her—she could be dangerous."

Legault steps in quickly. "Now, Bug," he says, "would I ever do anything to harm you or Pascal? Believe me, she's fine. Besides, Pascal's impatient, and you know how upset he gets when he finds that his women are touched by men other than him."

"Fine." Bug steps aside, and his companion knocks on the door.

"She's here, Mr. Grentzer."

A gruff voice from the other side responds. "Let her in."

Legault places his hand at the small of her back and pushes her into the room; the door closes behind her with a _thud_.

Pascal Grentzer sits on the bed on the other side of the room. He looks at her and nods in approval. "Haven't had a redhead in a long time," he says. "Or is it dyed?"

She gives him her most flirtatious smile and crosses her arms over her chest; the intended effect is immediate, she notes, as Pascal's gaze visibly shifts from her eyes to a point below her neck. "It's natural," she tells him, "and I can prove it."

"_We're here. It's a go."_

Leila moves to the bed, her steps slow and sensual, and takes a seat behind Pascal, running her hands over his shoulders and back. "You poor thing," she croons, "your muscles are so tense and knotted. You must be stressed."

He nods and tilts his head back, eyes closed in approval. "You have no idea—" His eyes snap open when he feels the cold metal barrel of a gun on his skin.

"I think I do," Leila says as the door bursts open and a squad of officers wearing the uniform of Lycia United police department enters the room.

-x-x-x-

"Great job, Leila," one of the men says as they begin clearing the room. "You've done it again."

Leila smiles. "Thanks, Heath." The pounding of the bass can still be heard here, but she is thankful that at least no one has to scream to be heard. "I'm just glad I could do _something_ helpful in all this." She looks pointedly beside her at Matthew, who had left the bar upon Pascal's arrest; Legault has already headed back to his position there.

"Not my fault," Matthew says. "You can pull off that outfit much better than I can." His expression brightens, and he grins at her. "Speaking of which, why _don't_ you just pull it off? When we're alone, of course."

"Matthew!"

Heath smiles. "It's fine," he says. "You two can leave now anyway—take the rest of the night off."

Matthew grins and grabs Leila by the hand, leading her to front of the club. "Don't need to tell me twice," he says, ignoring the steady stream of curses Leila directs at him as she stumbles along behind him. "Tell the chief we're out for the night!"

Leila is glad when they emerge from the bar, into the darkness of the club's dance floor once more; she can't figure out if her face is warm and red from the adrenaline rush of the night's arrest or something else entirely.

-x-x-x-

"You idiot," Leila hisses when they finally leave the club. "Now the entire force knows we're… you know."

Matthew gives her an innocent look. "What do you mean?"

She scowls. "You're an asshole, you know that?" Leila mutters. But she lets Matthew wrap his arm around her shoulders anyway and leans against him as they walk the familiar path back to his apartment.

"I love you, too," Matthew says.

"…Idiot."

Behind them, the neon sign of the club flashes in the darkness.

_The Dread Isle._

-x-x-x-

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><p><strong>Xirysa Says:<strong> I have nothing to say, except that police AUs should not be this fun to write.

May or may not expand this into a semi-cracky modern day AU continuum of its own. We'll see.

Feedback is appreciated, as always!


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